


The Blue Runt

by winchesterrobb



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Original Work, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Armpit Kink, Foot Fetish, M/M, Orc(s) - Freeform, Orcs, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Size Kink, Sweat, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterrobb/pseuds/winchesterrobb
Summary: Liam Dunbar is a member of the Wolf-Hill clan and on the cusp on manhood when his village is destroyed. Orphaned at a young age, Liam is once again left alone in the world and forced to flee into the wilderness. Never would he have thought that he would find his new home there.What if the Orcs from Skyrim were dropped into medieval Scotland along with Liam from Teen Wolf. Orc sex.
Relationships: Human/Orc, Liam Dunbar/Original Male Character(s), Liam Dunbar/Original Male Orc Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Blue Runt

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. I'll probably upload a photo of my Orc character from Skyrim with the next chapter.

Feeling warmth spread over him, Liam unconsciously kicked off the tattered cloth sheet which covered his body. Sweat dripped down his sleeping form, but it wasn’t the heat which woke him or alerted him to the danger. Mornings in the valley were typically cool, but sweltering temperatures weren’t unheard of and the shack he called home had little insulation. Instead, it was the sting of smoke in his nostrils that finally alerted him to the sounds of chaos around him.

A scream echoed from somewhere outside and Liam’s eyes shot open. “Silver-Bloods!” The warning sent a chill through Liam’s veins and he quickly scrambled out of his cot and shoved his bare feet into his boots. He rushed out of his home only to be stopped in his tracks by the sight before him.

Morning in the village of Dunbar was usually picturesque. Rolling fields, tenderly tilled and planted with the crops the village needed to survive; an endless, bright blue sky; the beauty of the slow moving river that ran alongside the village center and down through the valley. All of that was now drowned out by the sounds of war.

The fields which sustained his people were rapidly being consumed by massive flames, along with many of the homes at the outskirts of the hamlet, and the river was hidden beneath the smoke.

Dunbar was a small village and Liam knew everyone in it. Yet in this moment he couldn’t recognize a single face that rushed past him. The bodies which ran back and forth throughout the village (some in pursuit of others) were all shadows to him.

Liam stumbled from his home, trying to make sense of the chaos. Two of the village’s warriors ran past him, blue paint adorning their bodies and short-swords drawn as they charged into the smoke.

He recoiled at a touch on his shoulder but recognized the man quickly enough to catch him before he fell to the ground. Liam crouched to cradle the aging body of the village elder, Duncan. The old man reached down to touch at the growing dark spot that seeped through his tunic.

“Silver-Bloods,” Duncan whispered.

Liam felt tears run down his cheeks, streaking through the dirt which marred his face. He shook his head, refusing to accept the situation. Today was not supposed to be a day of slaughter. It was the day he was supposed to go down to the river with the other men from the village, to commemorate his 18th year and receive his war-paint as a full man of the Wolf-Hill clan.

“You must run,” Duncan pressed something into Liam’s hands. It was a small clay pot with a long leather strip looped through the top. Liam knew the vessel contained the blue paint of his people. “Go, Liam.”

Liam shook his head again and opened his mouth to speak but was cut short as a shadow came to loom over them.

He looked up to see a large warrior standing before him. The man held a rusted sword, dripping with the blood of Liam’s clan. His filthy mop of hair hid most of his face but Liam saw him smile, showing off a rotten row of teeth.

As the Silver-Blood brought his sword to bear, Duncan lunged upwards and impaled himself on the blade.

Liam stared in shock as the pair crumpled to the ground, Duncan’s own dagger lodged into the man’s chest. He tried to shake Duncan’s body and stir him, but it was useless. The old man lay lifeless on the ground.

A scream drew Liam’s attention to the scene nearby of a Silver-Blood warrior cutting down a man, while another hauled a struggling woman away. The smoke made both of them unrecognizable and Liam was grateful for that small mercy at least; he did not wish to know the identity of the woman who had fallen into the brutish hands of the Silver-Bloods.

Their clans were not at war, but this was not the first time that the High-King’s Treaty was violated by the Silver-Bloods. Their war-chief, elders, and even their clan-mother would pay for this: Liam vowed it.

“Liam!” A strong hand took hold of Liam’s bicep and hauled him to his feet, away from Duncan’s corpse.

Scott, one of the clan’s younger warriors, was shoving him towards the edge of the village. He was wielding a harvesting sickle that dripped with the blood of their attackers, mixed with his own from a wound on his forearm.

“Liam!” Scott gripped the side of his face with a bloody hand, calling the younger boy back from his thoughts. “You need to go. You need to warn the others.” Scott nodded, trying to reassure him. “Go. You have to run, Liam.”

Liam moved to resist but Scott was stronger and took advantage of Liam’s dazed state. The older man deftly removed the clay pot from Liam’s shaking hands and slipped the leather loop over his head.

“Don’t lose this.” He patted Liam’s shoulder and gave him a shove. “Go downriver, stay low and don’t let them see you.”

Liam nodded, starting off in the direction that Scott had pushed him. He felt like a coward, running away from the fight, but his confusion and fear drove his feet forward.

Scott followed him for a bit, forcing Liam to keep up his pace and escorting him as far as he could. A few Silver-Blood warriors attempted to halt them, but Scott dealt with them swiftly and with a brutality that Liam had never witnessed. He wanted to help, but not only was he unarmed, he was untried in true combat. He’d always been shorter than most of his clan and he remained soft around the edges (yet to shed the fat of his childhood) even as he came into his manhood. The devastation around him only reinforced his feelings of ineptitude.

At some point Scott’s hand left his shoulder and his presence faded away. Liam didn’t know if he’d been cut down or had split off to divert their pursuers or rescue another helpless villager. Regardless, Liam moved onward.

He neared the river but stopped in his tracks when multiple warriors emerged from the smoke on horseback.

Liam was frozen with fear as one of the mounted men, clad in fur and bone, turned his skeletal gaze upon him. A simple gesture with the ferocious twist of metal that served as his sword was all it took for the other mounted warriors to begin galloping towards Liam.

Instinct seized his body and drove him backwards, sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction. His brain was rattled, but he knew he could not outrun horses and that the Silver-Bloods were quickly closing the distance between them. Against his better judgement and the folktales and warnings of his youth, Liam darted down the riverbank and threw himself into the dark waters of the river which separated his village from the wilds beyond.

The water would only slow the horses for a moment and Silver-Bloods were known for their unrelenting bloodlust. He would not escape so easily. Losing his pursuers and reaching the others of his clan would require drastic measures.

As he waded through the river and reached the other side, the Wolf-Hill youth pushed himself forward. His soaked breeches and tunic clung to his small frame and his boots squelched as he scrambled up the riverbank. An arrow lodged into an exposed root nearby, but Liam did not waver. His only chance was to lose them in the forest.

He knew the stories of the wild creatures which made this forest home: the giants, goblins, and all other manner of savage beasts. However, his pursuers were nearly halfway across the river already and Liam was out of sane options.

Another arrow glanced off of a nearby tree, alerting Liam that they’d crossed the river. He darted through the sparse trees which marked the edge of the wilds, knowing that the deeper he got, the thicker the forest would become. And the more difficult it would be to follow.

Liam sprinted for his life and the lives of his people.

As the trees closed in around him, providing more and more shelter, he no longer heard arrows being loosed and the sounds of pursuit faded.

The once wide sky above him was slowly blotted out by the forest canopy, until his surroundings grew dark. He couldn’t stop. Not until he was certain the Silver-Bloods were no longer pursuing and he could safely loop back around to escape the wilds further downriver.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running, but eventually the forest got so thick that he could barely see more than a few yards in front of him. Exhaustion pulled on his sore muscles and threatened to collapse him. Suddenly a hot pain ripped through his shoulder and his feet tripped up beneath him. As he crashed to the forest floor he heard a haunting chuckle and reached up to grab his shoulder.

Blood covered his fingers and a sharp point protruded from his tunic. He’d been shot.

Heavy footsteps approached.

“Nay Talorc, leave the wee one.” A round of laughter rung through the thicket. “An offering to the forest. His blood will call the wild ones.”

By the time Liam was able to himself back to his feet and turn to face them, the pursuing party was already gone. He was alone.

Alone in the wilds: injured and bleeding, with no weapon, no water, and no way of knowing how to get out.

“Higher ground.” The young man dumbly mumbled to himself. He needed to get higher if he wanted to chart a way out that didn’t lead him directly back into the hands of the Silver-Bloods. The jagged mountains of the wilds were dangerous, but Liam had little choice than to brave them.

He moved forward, marching for what felt like hours. Eventually the thick woods and dark soil began to give way to sharp stones and shrubbery. The incline increased and it took all of Liam’s willpower to force his body forward. He was still soaked from the river and a chill had begun to settle into his bones, while his shoulder ached and blood dripped from where the arrow was lodged beneath the muscle. He did not have much time before he was taken by the cold, infection, or loss of blood – but survival was less important than warning his people. All that mattered was that he found the rest of his clan before the Silver-Bloods.

As the forest faded, Liam heard a chilling sound. Distant cackling grew closer and the skittering sounds of hands and feet moving rapidly over stone surrounded him.

Scrambling further up the rocks, Liam glanced backwards to see a small green creature stalking him. _A goblin_. He’d never seen one before, but there was no mistaking the scrawny creature behind him. If he weren’t injured it would not seem so threatening, but he knew that the real danger was that goblins were pack creatures.

Cursing the gods for this day, Liam continued to stumble forward. He heard more of the creatures beginning to surround him, the guttural sounds of their primitive language growing ever closer.

Hope was rapidly fading and Liam began to imagine what would happen when the goblins reached him. He’d heard that they feasted on human flesh and then turned their remains into weapons, furniture, and magical trinkets. He closed his eyes and hoped this was true; it was one of the less grueling stories.

Without realizing it, he reached the top of a jagged hill and tripped over his own feet.

The fall sent him tumbling down the sharp rocks at a breakneck speed. His soaked clothes shielded the majority of his body from being torn by the rocks, but he took repeated blows as he fell and the side of his face was busted open on a particularly nasty drop.

Eventually the world stopped spinning and Liam laid at the bottom of the hill, curled into a fetal position and bleeding. His head ached and his entire body was screaming in agony, but he managed to crack his eyes open.

Goblins skittered down the hills after him.

_A Wolf-Hill_ _doesn’t die on his back,_ the thought flickered through his dazed mind. He would never be able to explain how, but Liam found himself on his feet, facing the creatures which were nearly upon him.

A roar like Liam had never heard suddenly ripped through the hills, rattling him to his bones and nearly knocking him over. As it echoed across the jagged rocks around him, the goblins suddenly halted their pursuit. Dark spots danced across his vision, but Liam was able to see that they had begun to slink away.

There was a heavy, thudding, footstep behind him and Liam spun.

Stepping out of a cave directly behind him (no more than four feet away) was a massive, hulking creature. It bore a deep green hue, but was distinguished from the goblins by its size, the near-human structure of its skull, and the large muscles padding its bare chest.

_Orc_.

Darkness rolled across his vision and Liam collapsed onto the ground. Loss of blood, fear, or trauma from his injuries – Liam’s last thought was that it did not matter which led to his death. He failed to save his people.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment please! Critical, complimentary, etc.


End file.
